In the holy solipsism of the youngNow I can’t walk thru a citystreet w/out eying eachsingle pedestrian. I feelthier vibe thru myskin, the hair on my neck— it rises

In the holy solipsism of the youngNow I can’t walk thru a citystreet w/out eying eachsingle pedestrian. I feelthier vibe thru myskin, the hair on my neck— it rises. (Jim Morrison, Wilderness: The Lost Writings, Vol. 1)